


On Your Head Be It

by Herbrarian



Series: New Orders [13]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Chant of Light, Gen, Journey to Skyhold, Loss, Nightmares, Refugees, Regrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6240199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herbrarian/pseuds/Herbrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Previously: The escape from Haven had been close. With the refugees left to wander in the mountains for refuge, Cassandra feels the weight of what she has been called to do.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sun sparks off of the fresh powder that had fallen in the night as they camped. Thankfully, the snowfall was light and the band of refugees survived the night, none falling prey to the merciless elements.

Cassandra feels her despair constrict her heart. That it has come to this: the foe in the sky is snow and the enemy is hunger in the belly. She frets constantly, taking it out on Josephine as the latter seeks to ease the suffering of the civilians among them.

The ready rations they carry in the wagons might last another week if the fighting men that remain are on half rations. Not knowing if the horizon will bring a mountain to scale or a darkspawn horde to put down, Cassandra is loath to disable their able-bodied men. Grief and loss weighs heavily among them all, not to mention exhaustion, and Cassandra stews over the morale drop that reduced rations would cause.

None of this affects Josephine who aches for the mothers and small children, so vulnerable and frail in the knee-deep snow.

With a knit of her brow, Cassandra pauses to wonder when she became so inured to the plight of the vulnerable. Her throat constricts to think of Justinia and what the Holy Mother would say right now about the rambling musings of her Right Hand. Maker, to continue to feel Justinia’s expectations, the weight of them still … in the midst of all this loss it is near overwhelming.

Cassandra knows she should watch her own strength, that she first and foremost should take care to consume her rations and keep her fighting strength high. But, at every mealtime, she manages to find the same child to sit near. She does not know his name, but knows him instantly by sight, his dark hair curling around his ears and his over-large eyes reminding her so much of Anthony. She shares out her food, feeling a flush of satisfaction when the child’s eyes look a little less big and dark in that small face.

Realizing she is brooding and scowling, she falls back to the rear of the procession to watch for stragglers. While she does not like the demon-boy Cole, she must admit that he has been useful in keeping watch for those who wander at the back of the column. It does not stop her, though, from counting the company as it passes. It is compulsive; this is easily the fourth count she has done since they began their march this morning. She cannot help it and does not try.

As she watches, she sees Rylen coordinating the advance scouts and the forward party, swapping out for fresh eyes and legs. He is a good man, she muses, and she approves of Cullen’s assessment of troop organization.

For all intents and purposes, Cullen is independent in his management of their forces, but Cassandra has helped to bear that responsibility. His time at the Grand Cathedral before the Conclave, when he began to experience the subtle signs of withdrawal, left her wary and watchful. The time at Haven saw his flagging strength renew, and she began to recognize that Cullen Rutherford needed a problem to solve. It is a trait she understands well.

In the days after the Conclave, she had led. It seemed only reasonable in light of Justinia’s directives and Roderick’s small-minded hatefulness for the Seeker to do so. It was, in fact, all she knew how to do; sitting by and watching events overtake them was never a possibility. The Right Hand for two different Divines, she was no stranger to managing forces of men and women—from honor guards to squadrons—multiple times. Her education had seen her in good stead with a quick battle mind for deploying forces and maintaining supply lines. It was her duty to help establish Cullen in his new position as Commander, imbuing him with her credibility.

But the former Templar, while he had lived a Circle life for a very long time, was a natural at field command. Organizing, training, and motivating a large fighting force was as instinctual to him as breathing or striding along on those long legs: it came effortlessly. That they escaped Haven with as many civilians as they did was an easy testament to Justinia’s faith in him.

As Cassandra falls in behind the refugee band, she catches sight of Leliana, head bent in conversation with a scout who is taking correspondence for a raven. Even in this desperate situation and flight, the Left Hand continues to do the work the Divine set out for her. Cassandra feels a twinge of loss and envy at the other woman’s sure and easy purpose.

Cassandra knows that even now Leliana and Josephine send messages into the corners of Thedas, proclaiming their survival and victory at closing the Breach. Cassandra struggled at the beginning to accept Justinia’s choice of Leliana as her Left Hand. But again—as in all things—Justinia’s ability to read others and discern their abilities was inspirational, bordering on the miraculous.

_“You look troubled, Cassandra,” the Divine asks, trying to look me in the eye. But I know that if I meet her eye, she will read my disgust with this interloper._

_“It is nothing, Most Holy,” I lie, hoping the formal honorific will distance Justinia and keep her from probing further. I can feel Justinia’s posture change as she regroups and I brace myself for a scolding, Divine Beatrix’s favorite method of correction._

_“Daughter, look at me.”_

_I cannot bear to see the disappointment in her gaze, but the scowl I brace myself with is unprepared for her gentle smile and kind eyes._

_“Daughter, all are created to perfection in the eyes of the Maker and we each must find how we will serve, how we have been crafted to His Divine Will. You have been born, Cassandra, of strong lineage and imbued with a fierce loyalty and faith. You were given a lithe, strong body that can fell a demon thrice your size,” I blush at the memory of the Abomination I struck down and of the Service of Dedication led by the Divine in my honor as thanks for saving her life, “but you must open your heart and show grace to those who have also been called to serve no less passionately than you have.”_

_Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “At least my blows are honorable and true. I do not hide behind your office and spin lies.”_

_Horrified, my hand snaps to my mouth and I reel back. I immediately drop to my knee, head bent in shame. “Holy Mother, that is inexcusable. I should not have overstepped.”_

_Justinia chuckles softly, and I am caught unawares by the sound. She sighs and I hear her in a murmur, “not all blows rendered in the dark are against the Maker’s Will,” then louder, “Cassandra, you cannot truly think that the Left Hand acts without my knowledge or my consent?”_

_It is so quiet as I consider her words that I can hear her breathing as I kneel at her feet. I struggle to accept what she is leading me to, what I have known since she called the Nightingale of the Imperial Court. Not everything this Divine does will be face to face with an open blade. If I am to serve her and serve her well, I must accept this part._

_I stand and face her, my shoulders slumped. “No, Holy Mother,” I whisper._

_“She is my Left Hand, my daughter. I could no more disavow her than I could you. You are both the gifts of the Maker, created for service to Him. Have faith, daughter, for there will be days to come where you will have need of Leliana’s steadfastness, as she will need your determination. Rejoice in your faith together, Cassandra. It is why I have given you to each other.”_

Lost in memories of the Divine, Cassandra does not notice when Leliana joins her. It is not until the lay sister begins to speak that the Seeker is torn from her memories.

“Let me be the vessel / Which bears the Light of your promise / To the world expectant.”

Cassandra rejoins: “Those who oppose thee / Shall know the wrath of heaven.”

Leliana answers: “Call to your children, teach us Your greatness. / What has been forgotten has not yet been lost.”

Cassandra swallows, her vision blurring momentarily. She nods curtly, accepting Leliana’s momentary clasp of a hand on Cassandra’s arm. Then Leliana is away, walking back to her scouts.

It’s an old device between them, one which Leliana devised, and it has proven useful time and time again. They each hold a vast knowledge of the Chant—Leliana’s being more significant if Cassandra is being honest—and they use the varied passages to communicate openly without being noted. Together, they found the knack, under the guise of pure devotion, to speak in front of others and still communicate about dangers, both pressing and ephemeral.

She knows Leliana worries for her. They both suffered loss at the Conclave, but Cassandra’s was more … substantial. That first morning, after they had removed their operations to Haven, Leliana had tried to express sympathy and Cassandra walked away, refusing to acknowledge the ache. Leliana is right to worry; it is beginning to affect her, and the loss of Haven brought the stark reminder that loss, yet again, is inevitable.

Pushing aside the thoughts she cannot quell, Cassandra sighs and begins to trot up the side column to join the Commander and Rylen. It is getting late in the afternoon, and they will need to find camp for the night soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Cassandra wakes and bolts upright on her bedroll. Sweat streams down her face and pools between her breasts despite the cold in the air.

She pants deeply, blinking in the gloom of her tent. She strains her hearing, listening for the sound just on the edge of her hearing, and hears the crunch of snow as someone approaches. She grips the dagger fiercely she does not realizes she holds, silently shifting to a crouch.

Then the footsteps retreat into the distance and it is quiet.

She is in camp. That is the watch on rounds. It is early dawn. She has been dreaming.

Placing her dagger alongside of her on the bedroll, she holds her head in her hands. It has been 152 days since the Conclave. While she no longer has this dream every night, the irregularity of it has become crueler. It creeps in when she is most vulnerable and she cannot abate her despair.

Swiping at her cheeks to dry them, she buckles on her breastplate, straps on her sword and boots, and leaves the tent, determined to find Leliana.

Cook fires are already lit, preparing the breakfast porridge that they will all march on today.

She finds Leliana at the makeshift command post shared by the Advisors, deep in conversation with Cullen and Rylen. They are animated and Cassandra grips her sword hilt, anxiety constricting her throat.

“Cassandra,” Leliana speaks, “we have found it; we have found Solas’s refuge.”

“It is no more than two days march for the company, Lady Seeker,” Rylen interjects, his excitement matching Leliana’s own and overcoming proprieties.

“Cassandra,” Cullen says, smiling at her with a warmth and surety that none of them has felt in days, “the forward scouts have returned preliminary reports and it is vacant and amazingly whole. We will send the next scouting party ahead with a small squad of soldiers to begin to prepare places for the sick and frail and to gather fuel for the kitchens.”

“Kitchens?” Cassandra echoes, awe struck.

“Yes, and a forge and a library, apparently,” Cullen smiles. “It seems we will not wander the Frostbacks on end.”

Leliana has stilled, able to see Cassandra’s distraction. Softly, the bard says: “You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr / Within my creation, none are alone.”

Cassandra’s eyes swim.

“Yes,” she says simply. “Leliana, we must speak.”


	3. Chapter 3

Cullen continues to review hastily sketched maps dictated by the scouts to Rylen. But Cullen’s mind is only partly on the task in front of him. It is a blessed relief to feel the soft swell of hope in his chest, but he is extremely worried for the Lady Cassandra.

When she returned with Dorian and Solas from the wreckage of Haven without the Herald, he thought he would have to find a gurney for her. But the moment came to send the signal and she stood squarely in front of him, unblinking, not speaking, and simply held out her hands for the bow and the fire arrow. As the avalanche rained down on Haven, she turned and began to lead the vanguard even before all the snow settled.

Once they had found a safe camp that first night he joined her at the periphery of the light from the fires, staring out into the deep dark. He was grateful he chose to stand with her. He isn’t sure that she would have even seen the Herald coming through the blizzard if he hadn’t noticed her first.

Once Dorothea was safely ensconced with the healers and Mother Giselle, Cassandra immediately started stalking around the camp in a fury. She began issuing orders he had already seen fulfilled an hour before. Her behavior had been erratic, but he still regretted his harsh words, demanding to know who had put her in charge. He had seen her lips thin and her cheeks blanch; he knew he had landed the blow a little too close.

Looking after where Cassandra and Leliana disappeared among the trees, he hopes the Nightingale can help her.

News of their new home is beginning to be whispered among the early risers and the Herald will be awake soon. He knows Cassandra will want to tell the Herald they have found what she and Solas have been seeking. Without further hesitation, he follows the women’s trail through the snow.

Once he clears the tree line, he can see both of them sitting on a rock, Leliana’s hand touching Cassandra’s shoulder. Loudly stomping and clearing his throat, he approaches with his head down to give them time to register his presence. He looks up to see Leliana turning to greet him, “Ah, Cullen, it is fortunate that you are here,” the Spymistress proclaims.

“I do not want to interrupt, but word of the fortress is starting to circulate and the Herald will wake and hear of it soon.”

“Yes.” It is Cassandra. “Cullen, I wish to speak with you. Leliana, will you wake the Herald and tell her?” Cassandra requests.

“Of course,” and with a last look at the Right Hand, Leliana leaves the clearing.

Unsure of what is to come and sensing Cassandra’s tension, Cullen begins to wonder if his tremors have been apparent. The cold conditions and forced march have been taxing with his withdrawal, but he believed he had been hiding it better.

The silence stretches on and Cassandra remains with her back to him. Cullen starts into the void, “Lady Seeker, if I need to be re-assigned once we reach the fortress, I believe Rylen will hold you in good stead …”

“What?” she exclaims and jerks around to face him. “Commander, why – “

“If my withdrawal has interfered in any way – “

“Cullen,” she makes a dismissive noise in the back of her throat, forestalling him with a raised hand. “You have done a remarkable job, which is why I need to talk with you. Sit.”

She is a bundle of tension, a coil wound too tight. Aware that any questions will simply compress her further, he waits and sits back against the rock. They each look out at the brilliant snow-covered landscape. It is quiet and the sounds of the camp are soft and indistinct on the other side of the snow-filled trees. A raven calls overhead and wings away.

“I have served the Office of the Divine for almost 20 years. Justinia was … important to me. I gladly walked toward death many times on her behalf. It was a duty that I met with all of my being, all of my belief.

“When we lost her–when I lost her–at the Conclave, the idea that I failed in my most sacred of duties began to consume me.

“I have come to doubt my place.”

Cullen listens carefully, his gaze staring at the Seeker’s hands as she clasps and wrings them in front of her, adjusting the fit of the gloves on her fingers.

“I will relinquish my position as an advisor once we reach the stronghold. Sole decisions over our forces will be in your trust. I will still support you, should you require it,” he exhales through his nose in relief that he will not have to share his Lyrium withdrawal beyond the Hands for now, “but I can no longer lead. My faith is unsure, and without that I court death too willingly and sit with despair. It is irresponsible for me to hold power. You will have full autonomy at Council. When we reach the fortress, we will speak to Josephine and tell her what will change.”

“She will ask questions, of you and of me,” he says softly, trying to imagine how the ambassador will respond to the absence of the Lady Seeker’s presence among the advisors, particularly once Josephine has to present it to the outside world.

“I think not. Leliana has suggested that as we do this we name Dorothea the Inquisitor.” Cassandra glances over at him. “You were the most hesitant at giving her authority. Will you be able to accept this and to follow her?”

It was a long time ago, those early days, and the world–his world–has shifted so much in the intervening months. When did he begin to trust her, to trust Dorothea, he wonders to himself. Oddly, it was after she came back from Redcliffe, when she had come home with mages. He had been so furious at her foolishness, her gullibility. She wanted to believe they could all meet the standard she set for herself.

Then he had seen Fiona. She had looked diminished, a leader reduced by current events.  

As a Knight-Commander he had had access to certain privileged levels of information; he knew more about Fiona’s past than most, with the possible exception, he felt sure, of Leliana. The former Grand Enchanter, the former Warden, had known much heartache during her life and there was no doubt in his mind she was at her breaking point. One needed no further proof that she could no longer care for her charges than her foolish alliance with a Tevinter Magister.

Dorothea’s act had been one of cautious compassion in the face of that stark reality and it awed him. If that had not sufficed on its own merit, once she described the alternative future she had seen in Redcliffe; he shudders involuntarily. It was not possible to have left such a force of weapons out for anyone to scoop up.

“Yes. She has met every expectation I could lay at her feet. Knowing now what lies before her—what she must meet in the end—I would give her more than my sword and my service if I had it to give.”

The statement startles him, although Cassandra doesn’t seem to note it. He hears in his own words the clarity of truth, ringing out from deep within him. He husbands the thought away for inspection at a later time.

“Good. Within two days after we arrive we will name her Inquisitor. Tonight, the three of us will meet to plan. For now, it is time to be underway.”

The decision made Cassandra rises and begins to head back to camp.

“Cassandra,” Cullen calls to her, and the Seeker turns to face him. He knows what it is to lose one’s way, the terror of not trusting in what you have held true, in not trusting in yourself. “I believe in you,” he says to her, simply.

She smiles at him. “Leliana said the same thing. For now, it will have to be enough. Come, there is work to be done.”

**Author's Note:**

> Create Order #6  
> For more on this story's creation, checkout [Appendix, Chapter 6](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6612037/chapters/18520750)


End file.
